


Time Enough

by Estelathan



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Matt in the hospital, Nelson v. Murdock aftermath, Season/Series 01 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:24:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6366739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estelathan/pseuds/Estelathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is supposed to heal everything; now Foggy's gone (possibly forever) and Matt's pretty sure there isn't enough to fix all the damage he's caused this time around. Set after the events of 'Nelson v. Murdock'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Enough

 

 

_When given enough, time heals everything—or so the saying supposedly goes._

 

It’s a saying Matt’s never been fond of; in his experience there are just some things time cannot fix no matter how much of it passes him by. The passage of time hadn’t been able to heal his eyes, nor had it done much in the way of easing the twisting mixture of sorrow and anger that still swells in Matt’s guts every time he thinks of his father’s death, so really, what was the point? No, if experience had taught him  anything it was that time was useless towards healing anything, so when the door slammed shut behind Foggy as he stormed away from Matt, and probably out of his life forever, Matt knew no amount of time was going to be able to heal this one.

 

 

Days passed.

 

 

Then a full week.

 

 

Then another.

 

 

And then another.

 

By the time the fourth week has started to roll into the fifth Matt’s positive about two things: Time’s certainly not going to fix this one if thus far has been any indication, and secondly: the longer this drags on the less likely it is that Foggy’s going to return. Guilt weighs heavy on Matt’s shoulders like a tangible thing yet he’s at a loss at what to do about it. He hasn’t heard a word from Foggy since that terrible night which, loath as he is to admit it, isn’t that surprising. Foggy had asked him for the truth and Matt had actually complied. He'd told Foggy everything: about his heightened senses, about becoming the so-called 'Man in the Mask', the terrible thing that spurred it on . . . Everything. For the first time Matt hadn't held back, and while it should have been a relief to finally get it all off his chest at last after all this time instead it just felt like the world was crumbling down around him. Foggy had stayed, had listened, but Matt knew before he was even finished with his tale that Foggy had already checked out. It had been a shock, but in many ways it hadn't been all in the same. How was one supposed to react to finding out their blind best friend was a vigilante who hunted criminals under the cover of darkness? Matt would be lying if he said he'd expected Foggy to take the news and come out all rainbows and sunshine, but he had never imagined that Foggy would leave. Yet, that's exactly what he did: tired of all the crap and unable to deal Foggy had stormed out of Matt's life leaving nothing more than the echoing slam of the apartment door behind him.

 

 

As the time has went by Matt's found, for his part, he's simply resigned. Numb. He's hurt physically and mentally and is just as upset and angry as Foggy had been when he walked out, but it's all for a completely different reason. He's pissed off and hurting at himself. It would be far too easy to lay the blame for the entire mess on Foggy's shoulders: he's the one who up and left after all, but some tenacious part of Matt just can't. He can't do it. He's afraid and in pain and confused and about a million other emotions that he doesn't want to think about right now but none of it is aimed at Foggy.

 

 

If he weren't still healing Matt would consider trying to kick his own ass on the sheer principal of the matter. He's upset with himself; upset for not telling Foggy sooner, for having to tell him at all, for getting the ever-loving shit beat out of him by a freaking ninja no less, for not being strong enough to stop Fisk when he had the chance, for all the damn guilt that threatens to smother him all the time anymore . . . Lately Matt can't help but imagine that this is what tight-rope walking must feel like, being suspended hundreds of feet in the air trying desperately to keep your balance because you know there won't be anyone there to catch you when you fall.

 

It's almost ironic then that Matt's already started to fall.

 

~

 

After that terrible night life for Matt has settled into a sad routine that inevitably starts the same way ever day: to go to wok or not. It's not a decision he takes lightly, no matter how it may sound; these last few weeks he's been alternating between skipping going in altogether or going in at times when he knows Foggy won't be there. It's pathetic at best, frustrating at worse because things were never supposed to be this way. To make matters worse Karen's stuck in the middle between the two of them and she's not taking it lightly either. Matt doesn't know what Foggy's been telling her but every time he sees her she's ready for him with an earful, equally frustrated that neither he nor Foggy will tell her what's going on. To add to his misery Matt finds a part of him does want to tell her despite all the danger that would be heading her way, but in the end he doesn't. He's already lost one friend, he can't afford to lose the other.

 

By the time Matt's finally started to feel better physically from his injuries he finds he's feeling worse mentally. It's a familiar, dragging sensation that he associates with being frayed at the edges like a well-worn blanket, and one that he's sadly well acquainted with. Simple things become at once easier and harder; getting out of bed in the morning becomes a challenge of the mind because while he can do so easily, what's the point? Foggy still hates him, their law firm is still in tatters . . . Who cares that the sun is shining?

 

It's a vicious cycle that just keeps on going no matter what decision Matt tries to make: Why shower once he finally wins the fight on getting out of bed, it's not like there's anyone whose going to see him . . . Why put on clean clothes, if nobody's going to see him then there's no point . . . Why eat, it's not like there's anyone to nag him about it. . . On and on and on it goes and there's a little part of Matt that knows if things were different, if they were back to normal like before his desperate secret had come out, Foggy would have been all over him by now.

 

While Foggy had never claimed to understand the depth of Matt's depression he sure had a hell of a radar every time Matt fell under its spell. It had been that way since college; every time Matt would start showing the signs of being depressed Foggy was right there like a beacon lighting his way through the darkness that Matt's life had become. He'd always make sure Matt was up, dressed, and then they were off heading wherever Foggy thought would cheer Matt up. While Matt had relented the first couple of times or so, he could never deny that Foggy knew what he was doing. From everything in between going out for semi-bad Thai to one memorable occasion involving a duck pond that ended with a soaking wet Foggy, his friend had been right there with him. It’s a surprisingly chilly thought to realize that this time when he goes under, Foggy won’t be there to pull him back up. It’s a thought Matt doesn’t think on too much; he’ll figure something out, somehow.

 

Another week and a half of avoiding work, Foggy, and Karen (all in that order) passes by in a snail’s pace before Matt finally finds himself back on the streets again in the mask. It’s just what the doctor ordered—a way to work out his frustrations on something that’s decidedly not himself, at least that’s what Matt keeps telling himself as he pummels a petty thief in a rain-soaked alleyway. The thug isn’t someone The Mask usually goes after, from the sounds of it the guy’s younger than Matt is, not to mention small-time criminals were a long way away from the kind of shady dealings Fisk was wrapped up in, but Matt hadn’t been able to resist. Small time wannabe or not, the guy had been breaking into a senior citizen’s apartment complex when Matt had stumbled upon him and The Mask wasn’t willing to let that go.

 

The ensuing fight had been quick, but brutal and in the end the thug lay motionless on the ground, bleeding but still breathing, as Matt struggled his way back to his feet. Slowly, he staggered his way towards one of the alley’s walls only to collapse against it, his breath coming harshly. Despite the rain diluting it, the coppery taste of blood hung heavy in the air, thick enough that Matt could taste it. While it had been obvious fairly quickly in the fight just why the thug had been attacking seniors the guy had managed to get in a few good hits before Matt had finally taken him down—Matt’s thigh was still burning where the guy had gotten him with a knife. “I hope yo— _grahhh!_ —Enjoyed. . . It…” Matt growled out, his voice pitched high and breathless with pain as he shifted minutely against the wall. Now that the adrenaline was fading aches he hadn’t even noticed were starting to arise as Matt shifted again only to have his breath leave him in a hissed rush as pain tap-danced its way across his nerves and senses leaving him momentarily blinded. Ugh … _Dammit!_ He had to face it, maybe the guy had gotten in more than just ‘a few’ good hits after all.

 

Thankfully the guy in question doesn’t even twitch in response to all the noise Matt’s making which Matt is stupidly grateful for. While he’d taken worse, especially of late, he wasn’t up for going another round with this guy though considering the thug was already looking at spending the next several months drinking his meals through a straw, Matt was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be an issue. He huffed out the start of a dry laugh, more air than anything, as he dropped his head against the wall with a quiet thump and closed his eyes.

 

He doesn’t remember passing out.

 

Waking, however, is a completely different story.

 

Matt comes back to himself with all the speed and subtly of being hit with a battering ram: all at once he’s gone from zero to sixty and is buffeted on every side by an overwhelming canopy of sound and pain. It’s beyond disorienting and for several achingly long moments all he can do is listen to the rattle of his lungs as he gasps for breath and tries his best to ride it all out.

 

When he finally manages to crest the tide and starts coming back to himself again the smells hit him: a nauseating blend of bleach and antiseptic that spells out HOSPITAL across his closed lids in giant neon letters. For a good thirty seconds Matt doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry or panic because he can’t decide just what he did to piss the universe off at him. In the end he does a terrible combination of all three things, the resulting sound little more than a croak of his vocal cords but it must have made enough of a noise because there’s suddenly something shifting not far off from his bed and holy hell they must have him drugged because Matt didn’t even sense anyone was there. Panic grips in tight this time around, there’s no mistaking the amped-up beeping from his left that confirms it, as Matt shifts and tries to get away.

 

The hospital makes sense in a dreamy sort of way. He can vaguely recall fighting in the rain but there’s nothing beyond that. How he got here, wherever it is, and who this mystery person is are all unknown variables and Matt just wishes they would all go away. He doesn’t want seen like this; weak, hurting. . okay, well maybe he’s not hurting right now because these are some good drugs he’s currently on, but he’s in the hospital and that means there’s something hurting somewhere and the last thing Matt needs is witnesses to his hurting after the last humiliating round ended so great.

 

He shifts again, determined to get away this time, and oh. _Oh_ , there’s the pain he was missing. 0455 It flares up hot and bright from his chest before exploding outwards in a shower of sparks that reminds Matt of the fireworks he’d seen as a child. It takes his breath away and white-washes his brains leaving him reeling and gasping in its wake. A terrible, bone-deep aching combination of choking, gasping, and spluttering fill the next minutes punctuated by the harsh whine of beeping machinery going off next to his bed and for a long, long time Matt doesn’t know anything else.

 

~

 

Coming around the second time isn’t nearly as bad as the first. This time Matt’s aware he’s waking up in the hospital although he’s still just as hazy on the ‘how’ and the ‘why’ aspect of things. Fortunately he’s been doped back up while he slumbered—as evidenced by how the world on fire has turned into a melty canvas when he manages to open his eyes— which means the horrible pain from before is now a tolerable throbbing. It’s about as pleasant as he’s going to get considering he’s still stuck in the hospital, and the part of Matt that’s not completely loopy is starting to accept that when a voice startles him out of his revelry: “Matt?”

 

He’s not proud to admit it, but at the sound of the voice Matt flinches as if struck because if there’s one undeniable thing he hates from being in the hospital it’s this: the way the drugs mess with his senses because he should have known someone was there. He’s so wound up about it he doesn’t really respond when the voice says again: “Matt?” though this time there’s a familiar edge of desperation to it, like the owner doesn’t know what to do. It’s oddly fitting considering Matt doesn’t have a clue what to do either and finally he throws caution to the wind and responds “Yeah?”

 

There’s a beat followed by a long exhale and a shuddery inhale before words come tumbling out nearly too fast for Matt’s frazzled mind to comprehend; “Jesus Matt!” The voice exclaims, high pitched in what can only be worry, “What the hell man? I thought you were gone for good this time! What the hell were you doing near my apartment anyway? Do you realize you could have been seen or worse?! How would I---“

 

The voice continues on and on, but Matt’s far past listening to it, his mind fully distracted and stuttered to a halt because he suddenly knows that voice — _Foggy!_ — and the world disappears out from under him once more. It doesn’t make a lick of sense for Foggy to be here; why would he be? They haven’t spoken since that terrible day, weeks ago, and Matt had been resigned to the idea that had been the end of their friendship. What else could he think? There’d been no calls, no texts, and no notes left through Karen, nothing. What made now so different then? Nothing, that was what, so “What are you doing here Foggy?” Matt asks at long last, internally wincing at how raspy his voice sounds.

 

Foggy, who had been a mount of spewing words a moment ago faltered, the silence hanging awkward in the air for a moment before he continued “I found you man, you were down the alley near my apartment.”

 

And that right there shocks Matt more than Foggy’s presence because he remembers the alley, and now that he thinks of it the thug as well, but he hadn’t realized he was near Foggy’s, or had he? Foggy doesn’t give him time to think about it overly long before he’s speaking again, “I couldn’t leave you there. I wanted to, do you get that? I really freaking wanted to leave you there because it’d serve you right for getting yourself into this stupid mess in the first place but I couldn’t.” Foggy pauses, takes a deep breath, and continues. “I couldn’t get you awake. . . Do you know what that’s like? To find your best friend bleeding and unconscious not only once but _twice_? Huh? I yelled at you, slapped you, but it was like you were already dea—“, He chokes off, the rest of the word unsaid and strangled in his throat.

 

“Foggy,” Matt starts even though he doesn’t have a clue as to what to say because really, what do you say to something like that? “I’m sorry,” he finally settles on, the apology sounding weak to his ears but what else is there?

 

Foggy says nothing but his breathing changes, picking up pace, followed by the swish of fabric and the familiar heavy sound of Foggy's steps. They head away from the bed, but they don't leave, coming to a stop a few feet away and Matt releases a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He licks his lips, struggles to settle his resolve. Foggy's already left under bad terms once, Matt's not keen on a repeat performance, thank you very much. "I said I'm sorry, Foggy," He starts, and he can feel the way Foggy tenses even across the room, "and I meant it but this is who I am. I'm tired of fighting over this, aren't you?"

 

If the strained silence is anything to go by, Matt's not expecting any miracles here. He figures this is it, Foggy's going to leave again and it'll be for the final time no matter what else happens. Surprisingly, Foggy doesn't leave. He doesn't say anything either, and Matt's not a hundred percent sure with his senses still addled but he figures Foggy has his back to him, but at least he doesn't make a move to go anywhere and for a while that's how they remain. Both silent and together, yet pulled apart by lies and betrayal. It makes Matt's skin crawl and he itches to say something, anything to try fixing this, but Foggy beats him to the punch line. "I'm tired of fighting too," He says, and his voice is full of choked emotion, "I wish things could go back to the way they used to be."

 

Guilt stabs Matt deep in his center because things can't go back to the way they were and they both know it. Ignorance was bliss but there's no bandage big enough to cover the wound Matt's made of their friendship. "I wish they could too," He agrees softly, "but that doesn't mean we can't move on, can't build something better." He finds he's suddenly tired, though whether it be a combination of the emotions hanging heavy in the air, the drugs, or his injuries, Matt doesn't know. All he knows is a bone-deep weariness has settled over him like a blanket, trying to drag him under.

 

Foggy doesn't seem to notice his struggle but Matt can hear the slump in his shoulders, can practically hear the cogs turn in his head as he thinks upon what Matt's said. It's another eon of silence, in which Matt nearly falls asleep, before Foggy finally speaks again, "I'd like that too." His words are quiet, nearly missed, but Matt manages to catch them anyway. He hums his agreement, words beyond him at the moment, as his eyes slid closed. They still have a long way to go, a lot that still needs said, but for the time being Matt will take it.

 

They have the time to make it work.


End file.
